


Try-ditional

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Snipe Hunt, a fool in love, galra courting rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: One might think, after all the bullshit he's been through over the past several years, after all the reclamation and rebuilding, all the task forces he's lead with the Galactic Coalition taking shape under his and Allura's guidance after the rifts were restored, that Takashi Shirogane would be an unshakable beacon of good sense and right action...It makes this particular problem all the more unbearable.Who is he supposed to go to when his biggest dilemma isn't solving space-time crises, but figuring out how to woo the scariest man he's ever met?Obviously, the second scariest man he's ever met.





	Try-ditional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stardropdream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/gifts).



Shiro generally liked to consider himself a fairly competent person - always at the top of his classes, never any complaints about his leadership, never an obstacle he couldn't overcome...

One might think, after all the bullshit he's been through over the past several years, after all the reclamation and rebuilding, all the task forces he's lead with the Galactic Coalition taking shape under his and Allura's guidance after the rifts were restored, that Takashi Shirogane would be an unshakable beacon of good sense and right action...

It makes this particular problem all the more unbearable.

Who is he supposed to go to when his biggest dilemma isn't solving space-time crises, but figuring out how to woo the scariest man he's ever met?

Obviously, the second scariest man he's ever met.

Kolivan had raised a single eyebrow as Shiro stammered out his problem, glancing over his shoulder toward the door the entire time like merely the scent of the anxiety sweat trickling down his spine could summon Keith.

“You want to court the kit?” Kolivan sets his mug down, eyebrows twitching before slipping back into the usual impenetrable mask. “Have you begun the proper rituals with his dam?”

“His... what?” Shiro can feel his face twist in confusion as Kolivan heaves a sigh and engulfs his shoulder in one huge palm.

“His...” Kolivan grunts, shaking his head. “Krolia. Have you begun the courting ritual with Krolia?”

“Nooo...” Squinting up at the man before him, Shiro tries to ignore the twinge of a headache growing. “I don't want to court Krolia, I'm gay... I want to court Keith.”

The palm drops from his shoulder as Kolivan drags it down his own face and levels Shiro with a flat look. “You wish to court the kit, but haven't begun the required traditional Galra rituals?” He shakes his head with another rumbling sigh. “Kits...”

“Hey!” Shiro sputters, willing his shoulders not to slump under the judgmental gaze of a nine foot space cat. “How am I supposed to know about Galra courting or whatever?” Scowling at the floor, he scuffs the toe of his boot across the tile. “It's not like they were talking about their space dates when they were sawing my arm off.”

Kolivan's face doesn't even twitch. “There are books, Admiral.” He raises one cool eyebrow at Shiro's flushing face. “I assume you can read?”

“Wh- yes, I can read!” Shiro's scowl darts up to Kolivan's face. If he wasn't sure the Blade leader was incapable of humor he'd swear he was being laughed at. “I just didn't know that was something I'd have to worry about.” Which is just great – not only does he have to figure out how to woo Keith, apparently he needs to win over the third most terrifying person he knows first.

Kolivan sighs again, a gusty thing that ruffles Shiro's forelock in an uncomfortably damp way. “Don't worry about it too much.” The giant hand is back, clapping Shiro on the back hard enough to remind him Kolivan could probably snap him like a twig. “You were the black paladin, I'm sure you will make it through her trials with minimal dismemberment.”

“Minimal _what?_ ” Shiro squeaks as three hundred pounds of muscle ushers him to the door. “Kolivan I think there's some confusion!”

“Have fun, Admiral.” Kolivan chuckles, then slides the door shut in Shiro's face, leaving him to marinate in his anxiety sweat in the hallway.

Shiro stares dumbly at the door for just a moment longer, willing Kolivan to pop back out and tell him it's all just a hilarious Galra joke – maybe even Kolivan's first – but he's never been that lucky.

* * *

At least Krolia isn't as hard to track down these days as most of the blades seem to be – she and Colleen have struck up a friendship that's frankly a little terrifying. He can only hope that Colleen's goodwill toward him can temper whatever urges Keith's mother may have to see Shiro ripped to pieces in an effort to prove his worth.

He really should have known better.

“Admiral, nice of you to join us.” The cool tone slips over him before Shiro can step a single foot into Dr. Holt's lab. “We've been expecting you.”

He stumbles to a halt as he takes in the new fixtures, two plush chairs behind a desk with plants hastily arranged around it. Krolia's smile is terrifying as she gestures to the space in front of the desk.

“Please, step forward.” Shiro's gulp is audible as he shuffles closer to stand in front of them, somehow feeling three feet tall before Colleen's stonewall and Krolia's exposed, glinting canines. “I hear you intend to court my Keith.”

“I uh...” He fumbles, hands wringing as he watches Krolia's eyes narrow. “Y-yeah.”

“You sound uncertain.” Colleen raises an eyebrow at him, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers as she glances toward Krolia. “I was not aware this was a flexible matter.”

“It's not.” Krolia's smile grows, exposing a few more teeth as she stares unblinking at Shiro. “Galra mate for life, you know.”

“Oh, is that so?” Colleen's voice is anything but surprised as she cups her chin. “I suppose indecision would not reflect well on a potential mate then, would it?”

“No.” Krolia still hasn't blinked and Shiro can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. “It would not.”

Shiro clears his throat, willing his hands to stop trembling. “I'm certain.” He nods once for emphasis, trying on a wobbly smile that he aims between the two scariest women in his life. “I want to uh... mate Keith-” He clears his throat again, boot scuffing the floor. “-for life.”

Krollia's face twitches minutely. “Then you're prepared to partake in the rituals?” Shiro can only nod, not trusting his answer to come out as anything but a nervous squeak, but it's apparently good enough. Krolia holds a hand out to her side as Colleen taps the desk and activates a holographic display before them. “Behold, Fool's Bane... I believe your people called it a 'Snipe' centuries ago.”

Shiro squints as it flickers to life. It's... a very large... rat?

“It's um...” He can't help the disbelief creeping into his tone as he tries not to look too relieved. “...very ferocious?”

Colleen's face seizes for a moment before she returns to her stony gaze, shaking her head in sympathy. “You have no idea.” Her fingers dance on the pad, enlarging the animal and bringing up various attributes that whip by in strands of data. He thinks he catches the words 'venomous' and 'septic' before it pulls up a physical description and habits - of course it's omnivorous. She taps the display again, drawing his attention to the asterisk labeled 'not actual size' with a grim look. “The Garrison lost many good personnel to these things during the war, our best hypothesis is that they're hybridized and irradiated from the invasion, but we've never gotten one back here to study.”

“And you, uh...” Shiro swallows, suddenly a little more concerned by the two-toned beady eyes staring at him from the display. “You want me to bring you a dead one for Keith?”

“No.” Krolia cuts in, hands splayed on the table in front of her. “I want the plant matter inside of it.”

Now Shiro is even more confused.

“So... can I just go get that plant?” He tries on a hopeful smile, eyebrows raised as he looks between them again. “I'm sure I can find you nice fresh plants.”

The scary eyebrow is back as Krolia levels him with an unamused look. “The enzymes in its stomach activate a particular chemical in the plant.” The eyebrows switch places, probably so they both get the same chance to judge him. “If I wanted useless flowers I would send useless people.” She glances down to her fingernails, then back up at him through her lashes with narrowed eyes. “Are you useless, Admiral?”

“No Ma'am.” Shiro squeaks, snapping to attention. “I'll get your flowers.” He's halfway through spinning on his heel to march out and start on his mission when Colleen's delicate cough stops him in his tracks. His shoulders climb to his ears as he realizes his error, but he forces himself to turn and face the dual looks of judgment. “Ah...”

“Did you have a question, Admiral?” He swears Krolia's tone is mocking, but he's never seen her make a joke either. “Or are you going to 'wing it' as you Paladins seem so fond of doing.”

He can feel his cheeks flare as he ducks his head, already making a fine impression. “Um... what flowers do you need?” He mumbles to his shoes, risking a peek up to see Colleen hastily smother another violent facial twitch. “And where am I supposed to find this thing?”

“There we are.” Colleen's voice is almost teasing as she flips the display to a series of plants on a geographical overlay. “I'm going to need some crocus, some poplar – preferably black, some hawthorn and...” She taps her fingers to her chin in contemplation as the locations of the flowers bloom on the screen. “... some honeysuckle.”

Of course, none of the blooms on the map are in the approximate vicinity of the others. It would take Shiro hours to get this done, days maybe depending on how long it takes to search through the carcass for some weeds.

“Okay.” Sucking on his teeth absently, he squints at the map. “So... I should be able to take a bike and hit up one zone every half hour or so, rifle through some rat guts, and have them to you by morning?” He risks flicking a hopeful look up to them again, only to find Krolia's mouth twisted up as Colleen communicates to her through what must be top secret female telepathy. Purple lips purse before one canine pokes out through the corner of her mouth, hastily stifled as she turns to face him again.

“The plants must be harvested live, without killing the snipe, or the enzymes will denature the chemical in the flower.” She throws a look to Colleen who sits beside her, nodding solemnly.

“And since the snipe is nocturnal you'll need to be careful not to startle it away with artificial lights.” Her eyes are twinkling, reminding him squarely of Matt in the very worst way. “By sunrise the snipe will be back in its den.”

“And you must be wearing the traditional hunting garb of our clan.” Krolia cuts in, raising her palms and spreading them wide. “It's very important for a prospective mate to share in the culture of the clan before attempting the courtship rituals.”

“Hunting... garb?” Shiro tries his best not to sound as bedraggled as he feels, caught like a fly in their web. “Does that mean no paladin armor?”

“I'm afraid not, Admiral.” Krolia's tone is grave as she shakes her head. “Snipes have senses that are far too keen for that.” She swipes across the desk, banishing the maps as she taps. “You'll need something far more... stealthy.”

An image of a burly Galra phases into existence before him, covered in warpaint swirled into tribal brands and all manner of feathers and teeth, and...

“That's a loincloth.” Shiro can't help the slack-jawed stare at the console.

Krolia's brows furrow as Colleen starts hacking into her fist, spinning her chair around. “Are you unwilling to partake in your mate's heritage?”

“No!” Shiro blurts out, hands flying out in front of him. “No no, it's fine!”

Colleen is still coughing, rattling her chair and the desk. It wobbles the transmitter, making the very burly and obviously well endowed Galra hologram crackle.

“Wonderful, Admiral.” Krolia nods at him, entirely unfazed as she reaches behind her to give her accomplice a pat on the back. “I trust you will find a way to retrieve your proper garb.”

“Yes Ma'am.” He salutes, standing dumbly before them, watching the crackling loincloth sputter as Colleen wheezes.

Krolia cocks her head.

“Dismissed, Admiral.”

“Yes Ma'am!” Backpedaling, Shiro smacks his arm port on the doorway in his haste to escape before spinning to grab the frame and scrambling into the safety of the hallway. He doesn't stop power walking until he's safe in his quarters, blissfully ignorant to the howling laughter behind him.

* * *

Clearing his plans until right before dusk had been an easy decision, even if it had shocked Veronica into restarting the comm system just to make sure they weren't being hacked again. Shiro had spent a miserable half hour trying to look up where he could get the traditional Galra hunting garb, but the searches kept bringing back results for what he was certain was the equivalent of an alien sex store.

Maybe Galra hunter was a common kink, like a fireman?

Either way, the reek of fear sweat and desperation emanating from him must have been enough to convince Regris to help, because he was now the proud owner of one Galra hunting kit, complete with ceremonial ring - whatever that was. He hasn't dared to peek inside the velvet bag yet, perturbed by Regris's pained wheeze through the mask as he thumped Shiro twice on the chest for luck. Apparently the entire contingent of Blades had been made aware of Shiro's plans for the night judging by the way they trembled when Regris asked if it was to be a genuine snipe hunt.

At least if he survives minus a limb or two he'll still have their respect.

Shiro tests the lock on his room twice just to be safe before dumping the contents of the bag onto his bed, not quite hoping that the jingling in there is some sort of feather-light chain mail that he can gird his ballsack with.

It is, in fact, the opposite.

“Ceremonial ring my ass...” Shiro growls, eyes narrowing at the mocking little circle jangling merrily against the long silver chain that splits into two decorative clips. It's slightly bigger around than the circle of his hand, made out of what he can only assume is luxite by the way it shimmers in the ambient lighting. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” The tinkling sound it makes when he tosses it back on the bed is grating on his growing headache.

Next out of the pile comes what must be the garb – barely more than a hand towel made from some sort of animal that probably deserved better than the fate of being wrapped around his dick all night. He stares at it bleakly for a moment before peeling off his uniform with a sigh and holding it up for inspection.

It's... not going to be an easy fit.

Five minutes of tugging and one dangerously pinched ballsack later, Shiro might be reconsidering this whole 'partaking in the heritage' thing. The cloth doesn't even have a proper back flap to it, just two straps coming up under his cheeks to secure the frontal pouch like an old Earth athletic supporter. The leather skin is almost distressingly soft, feeling like butter against places he really doesn't need to feel anything while he's this exposed, and it shimmers faintly purple with some sort of scales on the tip of the pouch. Needless to say, it's A Lot – and he doesn't even have any of the feathers or the warpaint on... or whatever those tusk looking things are, and the weird ring still won't transform to fit over his wrist or on his finger – maybe because he has no Galra blood?

But it's for Keith, and Keith is worth anything.

Even the most embarrassing call of his life.

Matt bursts into the room approximately seven minutes later, more winded than Shiro has ever see him in all of their training together.

“Did you... run here?”

Still doubled over, Matt gasps something unintelligible as he raises one finger, the other hand still braced on his knee. His breathing is almost concerning with the way he's whistling in air, but the other hand is flapping now, thumping himself on the chest as he tries to heave out his thought.

“Fi-” He wheezes, promptly grabbing his knee again and shaking his head. “Fin-”

Shiro takes a tentative step forward and slaps him on the back a few times, placing himself firmly in Matt's doubled-over view. “Easy there, buddy.” He chuckles nervously, itching the back of his bare thigh as Matt's gasps turn strangled. “No dying, I need your mom to like me right now.”

Matt whips his head back and forth frantically, hand coming back up to clutch his chest as he staggers back into the door, eyes wide.

“Whathafuckissat?”

It leaves him in a half-shriek as Shiro cringes back, subtly cupping himself as if that makes the bare ass and sexy cave man cosplay more acceptable. The furrow of his brows as he shifts his weight uncomfortably is far too indignant for someone wearing a dishtowel.

“I told you I was trying to court Keith...” The words leave him in a grumble, cheeks losing the battle against the blush threatening to overtake his entire body.

“Yeah, you said you needed help getting his mom to like you.” Matt cringes and glances back up, face twisting as he straightens and stares pointedly at Shiro's right eyeball. “Not that you needed help putting on your weird fetish gear.”

“It's not-” Shiro sputters, bringing one arm up to shield his nipples from Matt's judgment. “It's traditional Galra hunting garb!”

“Uh-huh.” Matt grunts, crossing his arms as he talks to the single eyelash that exists of Shiro's body. “And who exactly told you this.”

“Krolia.” The smug smile on Shiro's face is utterly insufferable as he raises one eyebrow in a 'gotcha' lilt. “ _And_ Kolivan.” He jerks a thumb back toward the traditional garb kit spilled across the bed. “Regris provided it for me – three senior blades can't be wrong.”

“You know what.” Matt's voice comes out strangled as a war wages inside him. There are moments where a man has to chose between what is right and what is hilarious... and Matt has always been a principled man. “You're right Shiro, I'm sorry.” His entire face twitches in protest as the words scrape off his tongue.

“It's fine Matt.” Shiro sniffs, arm coming down to brush down his nude chest as if he were brushing lint from his uniform. “Intergalactic diplomacy isn't everyone's forte.”

Matt nearly walks out right there, but then he'd miss... whatever this is.

“Okay, so.” It comes out squeaky as he clears his throat and tries again. “So you need to wear this... garb... why?”

“Tradition.” Shiro's voice is grave as he turns and strides to the desk to get his data pad, revealing far more of himself than Matt ever wanted to see. “I've got to hunt down the snipe that's been terrorizing the Garrison and get plants from its stomach for your mom.”

“The... snipe?” Matt's pretty sure this is a fever dream. That maybe he's hit his head and when he wakes up he can salvage some respect for his friend – The Admiral – that stands before him with less fabric than a dice pouch wrapped around _his_ dice pouch. “You're hunting a snipe... they definitely said snipe?”

“You've heard of them too then?” Shiro lifts his head from the tablet, concern written across his face. “I'm really behind on Garrison security if even you know more than I do about this...”

Rude. Of course Matt has heard of them – Sam Holt, self-proclaimed Master of Pranks, had sent his two young children out into the yard with a pillowcase and videotaped them yelling 'Here Snipe!' for more than an hour while cackling through the kitchen window.

“Yeah Shiro.” Matt schools his face into a mask of disbelief. “I'm a little disappointed, the snipes have been a problem around here since I was a kid.”

At this point, he's doing a public service introducing Shiro to traditional human hazing rituals.

He almost feels bad when Shiro slumps.

“I guess I've been a little distracted with uh...” Shiro waves one hand to the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know.”

“Yeah.” Matt grunts, trying not to think of all the ridiculous pining he's had to witness over the last five years. “We all know.” He aims a pointed look at the picture of Keith on Shiro's dresser. “At least you're killing two birds with one stone, right?”

Shiro brightens at that, straightening up and revealing even more of the trail of hair that slips into the sack around his family jewels. “Right!” He drops the tablet onto the bed and snags a handful of feathers and paints. “Krolia will have to let me court Keith then, right?” His hopeful puppy eyes snag at Matt's heartstrings in the grossest way. “And Keith will be impressed?”

“Yeah buddy.” Matt sighs, picking up a leather cord as he squints at what is most definitely a Galra erotic novel cover and begins to wrap it around Shiro's biceps. “Keith won't know what hit him.”

It's a testament to their friendship that it survives the discovery of where the ceremonial ring and clamps go.

* * *

Five hours later, Shiro is beginning to think this whole thing might not be as easy as they made it sound.

He's been jingling around the grounds outside the Garrison in his fancy underwear and warpaint for what feels like ages with absolutely zero sign of a snipe to be had. Every site has been totally devoid of snipes or snipe tracks, and all he can do is pluck some of the fresh flowers with a heavy heart. Worse yet, the running around on foot has made him so slick with sweat the traditional paint Matt had swirled onto his body has begun to drip and smear – probably shaming Keith's clan or something. It's all he can do not to sit down and cry, half naked and covered in little bits of plant detritus.

But Keith deserves better than a mate that gives up on him when things get bleak, so Shiro keeps walking.

And walking.

Until the first hints of color creep back into the grey wasteland he's been stumbling around in, illuminating his shivering, pathetic form. Still trudging through the desert prairie, he stoops to grab another handful of poplar – dark as his spirits – and considers how he'll face Krolia after this. He can't lie to her, she'll see right through him... and besides that, he wants to earn her respect. All he can do is face her, shoulders squared and paint smeared, to explain that he couldn't even find the snipe – let alone protect her son from one.

He might have a chance still, he muses as he scuffles through a patch of weeds and rips up some crocus. Maybe he'll come back looking so bedraggled and pathetic with his little sack of plants that Krolia will think he's funny... maybe she'll even realize the he needs Keith to protect him and not the other way around.

There's a clump of hawthorn strewn on the ground in front of him, left haphazardly in clumps of ripped up dirt. The ground had obviously been churned up by some sort of animal digging through... some sort of nocturnal animal.

Holding his breath, Shiro carefully scoops the hawthorn into his bag, barely daring to hope that he might at least bring back something out of this mess as he follows the tracks over a small hill. Something rustles at the bottom, a dim shape in the gully rooting around in a patch of weeds as it snuffles.

Summoning every ounce of stealth he possesses, Shiro creeps down the hill - each footfall landing with precision, deathly quiet. Except for the damned jingling.

Tufted ears flick back on the beast, swiveling to hear his approach. One glowing yellow eye appears as it turns its massive head. Shiro takes his chance, bellowing his best war cry as he hurtles the last few feet down the hill and lands on a furry back, doing his best to wrestle it into the ground without getting envenomed.

The beast thrashes below him, letting out an unholy yelp as a long tongue slobbers up his face, rancid breath wafting from its jaws. Shiro freezes for a crucial second, paralyzed in horror at the thought of jamming his arm down that gullet.

And then the creature vanishes from his arms in a flash of ozone, leaving him blinking stars from his eyes in the dawn.

Which is really kind of bullshit at this point... they hadn't even warned him about that part.

Huffing in exasperation, Shiro lets himself flop backward onto the grass, uncaring that the few useless herbs he had gathered spill from his pouch – with the first golden rays creeping over the horizon it doesn't matter much anyway. The breeze drifts over him and he closes his eyes, basking in the last moments before he has to face down his failures.

There's a popping noise somewhere to his left minutes later, followed by a wet snuffling at his ear, and he can only hope it's the snipe coming to put him out of his misery. He cracks an eye open just in time to see a long tongue descending on his face, coating him chin to eyebrows in thick, gooey drool.

“Hey Kosmo.” Shiro can't help the smile that crawls onto his face as the best boy flops down beside him. He buries his hands into the long fur on Kosmo's scruff and digs deep. “Did Keith send you out here to find me?”

Kosmo whines in response, rolling belly up to expose his snout and paws utterly covered in mud and plants.

The same mud and plants Shiro is currently wallowing in.

“Oh.” He cringes, wiping down the soft belly fur. “Sorry about that buddy, I thought you were someone else.”

Kosmo chuffs, sneezing bits of greenery in a glob onto Shiro's chest.

It's objectively horrifying.

“I guess I deserve that, huh?”

He gets a whine this time, right before Kosmo rolls back over, gags a few times, and spits up a clump of honeysuckle right onto Shiro's feet.

And promptly pops out of existence.

Shiro can't do much but sigh as he wipes the slime off his chest, flicking his fingers into the grass and sliding the half digested plants in with the rest. It'll have to do.

If he's lucky he can sneak back into the Garrison before most of the cadets are awake, the last thing he needs is photographic evidence of his latest failure haunting him for the rest of his life.

If he's not lucky the walk of shame will be enough to disqualify him entirely from a second attempt at winning his potential mother in law's favor... though maybe he's already brought so much shame on the clan's garb that they'll leave the planet and take Keith with them.

On the bright side, the ritual paints are probably unrecognizable smears by now – maybe lessening the shame of his bearing them during such a pathetic attempt.

Steeling himself, he begins to trudge back to the walls of the Garrison, slimy bundle in hand. He doesn't get very far before another pop sounds behind him.

“Kosmo, I knew you loved me!” He whirls around, chain jingling and exhausted grin bright as he holds his arms out for slobbers from his furry savior...

And his furry savior's master, staring slack-jawed as his mostly nude and mangy form.

“Keith!” Shiro yelps, cringing away as he tries to find something to cover himself that isn't a bag dripping in slime. “What are you doing here?”

“Shiro- what?” Keith shakes his head, rearing back in indignation. “What am _I_ doing here?” He scowls, throwing a hand between himself and Kosmo. “We've been looking for you all night!”

“What? No.” Shiro crosses his arms in a futile attempt to hide his chest, grunting as it tugs on the ceremonial clamps and smears the paint even more. “You were supposed to be busy, I checked with Regris.”

Dark eyes narrow as Keith steps toward him. “Why did you need me to be busy?” He stops a few feet away, taking in the depths of Shiro's despair. “What even happened, why are you out here?”

“It's nothing.” The clamp tugs again as he shifts, making Shiro wince and scowl down at his chest.

Keith's eyes trail over the smudged paint and blow wide. He steps closer again and grabs Shiro's shoulder. “Are the recruits blackmailing you?” He flails a hand at the smears. “Did they tell you to write that on yourself?”

“Uh... not exactly?” Shiro hedges, shuffling in the growing pit of muck seeping between his toes. “I had a... thing to do for them.”

“Who's them.” Keith growls, eyes flashing yellow in the hazy light. “I swear they're going to run laps until they drop dead.”

“Oh no!” Shiro squeaks, smile cracking as Keith's grip tightens on his shoulder. “No need!” He flaps his hand over his own nervous laughter. “It's all just a big joke, you know... important top secret blade joke.”

“Top secret?” Keith's head cocks to the side and Kosmo mirrors him, a tiny furry traitor wagging his tail through the remains of Shiro's dignity. “Top secret only comes from two people.”

“Oh, did I say top secret?” Shiro chuckles, scratching at his chest with a manic grin. “I mean uh... mop secret.” He clears his throat and wills the twitching in his eye to stop. “Yeap, just cleaning out here.”

“In a loincloth.” Keith deadpans, dropping his hand from Shiro's shoulder and giving him a disbelieving once over. “Covered in Galra graffiti... with nipple clamps?”

“I'm getting in touch with my wild side?”

Keith scoffs. The wildest Shiro has gotten since they've been back home is a trip to the zoo and some tiger face paint.

“In the middle of the night?”

“It's Galra tradition?”

It's weak, even to his own ears. Shiro cringes again and Keith pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Shiro.” He exhales hard before giving him a flat stare. “Tell me the truth and I'll zap you back home.” Kosmo's ears perk up and his tongue lolls as he stares adoringly up at Keith. “Bullshit me again and I'm gonna go get Lance and Veronica to memorialize that dick painted on your back for all time.”

“You wouldn't.” Shiro gasps, stung by both the stubborn set of Keith's jaw as he reaches for Kosmo's collar, and the realization that Matt is a big fat traitor.

There's no winning this, it's a salvage effort at best now.

“No, wait!”

Long fingers ease off the collar as Keith tilts his head.

“Spill.”

“Okay.” Shiro swallows hard, curling his toes in the muck. “I um... was doing something for your mom.”

“For my mom?” Keith's eyebrows crawl to his hairline, arms dropping slack in surprise. “What would she need out here?”

“Uh... plants?” Shiro shrugs, sheepish as he holds up the dripping bag of assorted vegetation. “I guess her and Colleen needed some plants from the guts of a big rat or something.”

Keith scoffs. “And they needed an Admiral to fetch them?” He gives Shiro another long look, gaze catching on the chain that trails off into the leather with the hint of a blush. “In a loincloth?”

“Er, well... kinda?” Shiro coughs, cheeks heating as he chews on his lip. “It's um, traditional, they said... I didn't lie”

“Traditional.” Keith repeats dully, looking to Kosmo for confirmation that this isn't a fever dream. “What's the tradition for naked midnight flower picking from the belly of a giant rat got to do with anything?”

A rough sigh escapes Shiro before he can help it, cracking his resolve. “It's stupid, okay?” He flops down into the mud at his feet, ignoring the way it splatters muck farther up his torso. “Just stupid Galra courting rituals that I failed.”

“What?” Keith shakes his head, dropping to his knees next to Shiro in the mud, unconcerned with the filth covering his pants. “Shiro what are you even talking about? There's no Galra courting rituals to fail.”

“There are.” Shiro nods glumly, slumping against Keith's side for what might be the last time. “I didn't know either until Kolivan and Krolia filled me in.” He sighs, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead as he meets Keith's eyes. “I'm sorry I wasn't worthy of you.”

“You... _what_?” Mouth working uselessly, Keith stares into the middle distance for a moment, plotting how best to murder everyone he loves. Shiro sighs against him again, like an old dog waiting to die. “Shiro... just, no.” Keith can feel the headache growing between his eyes. “There are no courting rituals.”

“But Kolivan said-”

“I don't care what Kolivan said.” Keith snaps, grinding his teeth and counting to ten when Shiro flinches against him. “And the only person who gets to decide who is worthy of me is me.” He lifts a gloved hand to tip Shiro's chin up, resting their foreheads together. “And for the record, the only person I'd ever want is you.”

“ _Oh._ ” Shiro breathes, blinking up into Keith's fierce gaze. “So... I didn't fail?”

“Oh, Shiro...” Keith shakes his head, rubbing his nose against Shiro's blue-smudged cheek. “You could never.” He pulls back enough to cup Shiro's face in both hands, eyes searching. “Why didn't you just tell me?”

Shrugging weakly, Shiro can't help the embarrassed blush that steals over his bare skin. “I just wanted to do things the right way.” His own hand comes up to stroke mud off Keith's cheek, succeeding only in smearing different mud in its place. “You deserve that much, after all we've been through.”

Huffing an incredulous laugh, Keith turns his head to catch Shiro's slimy palm in a kiss, eyes sly under his lashes. “Shiro... after all we've been through, you've gotta know I'm already yours.”

Cracked lips part around a smile as Shiro's face blooms in hope of a love requited, breath still when Keith leans in to press against them heedless of the paint that smears across his face. It's not until an impatient whine from their audience that they pull back.

“Sorry buddy.” Keith pants, entire unapologetic as he holds a hand out toward Kosmo. “Ready to save Shiro from whatever snipe hunt they sent him on?”

A happy bark, a pop of ozone, and the echo of confused words across the desert prairie...

“Baby, how did you know it was a snipe?”


End file.
